


i'm an anchor (and i'm weighing on your mind)

by Aria_Masterson1153



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, I'm still emo abt playoffs so this is PURE FLUFF, M/M, Matthew Tkachuk is good with kids, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, aka this fic is canon compliant and I'll hear nothing else on the matter :)))) ty :)))), uhhhh hard fuckin no fam lmao rip, will I ever be able to write less than 9k for these idiots???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 22:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: “I only paint beautiful things—which yes Noah; means I think you’re beautiful,” Matthew assures him with an exasperated eye roll. “Dumbass.”(5+1 times Matthew paints Noah)





	i'm an anchor (and i'm weighing on your mind)

**Author's Note:**

>   
> This is...the absolute softest thing I've ever written. Truly, I'm disgusted with myself. What's a fluff again??  
>   
> Alt Summary: (Noah:) "Paint me like one of your massholes, Matthew" (do me a solid here and picture a lot of eggplant/sweat emojis ty <333333)  
> 

 

**1**

Noah fucking _hates_ painting.

Honestly, props to the other students in the class that are working diligently on their projects, while Noah glares at the unsightly mess smeared across his paper. He attempted to paint a simple landscape—the key word being ‘attempt.’ Even his smiling sun perched in the top left corner is running down the page, bright yellow paint dripping onto his one-toned stretch of grass in the background.

“Yikes,” Jack winces at Noah’s painting, though his own rendition of a flower vase more accurately resembles something painted by a demonically possessed child than anything else.

“Yeah, you just worry about yourself over there big shot,” Noah snipes back, smirking at the way Jack’s lips turn down at the nickname in the way Noah predicted they would.

“Fuck you and your shit painting,” Jack huffs dramatically before he turns back to his own garbage, pouting as if it’ll somehow sharpen the over-blended amalgamation of colours into something appealing.

“Fuck you,” Noah replies easily, distracted as he wonders how he fucked up his painting _this_ comprehensively.

Especially because he and Jack are so thoroughly shit at art they were only allowed into the grade 11 class, rather than the senior level course they should be in. It was a definite blow to his pride, but Noah shut up, believing grade 11 art would be a piece of cake.

And oh, to be so young and naive.

He feels like a grizzled vet, even though it’s only their second class, because he’s so accustomed to his artwork looking like absolute shit while the rest of the juniors crank out beautiful pictures like it’s no big deal. Truthfully, it probably isn’t. They’re gifted at art in the way Noah _isn’t_ , and that’s okay. Not for his ego, but it’s...interesting. A challenge, especially for two ultra-competitive hockey players, is always welcomed.

He never imagined grade 11 art would be such a fucking nuisance, but such is life. And anyway, all he needs to maintain is a 70% before their NTDP coaches start sniffing around. So, he’ll continue to mind-fuck himself over foregrounds and the benefits of oil paints to receive his 70%, and then peace the _fuck_ out.

Because it’s not an art degree he’s striving towards; it’s the NHL.

“Um, hey,” a timid voice interrupts his inner ramblings.

He looks up and his eyes squint with recognition at the guy in front of his desk. He’s a high profile rookie this year with the NTDP, and one that has impressed Noah, even with their limited training sessions this early in the year. His eyes flicker between Noah and Jack nervously, widening ever so slightly at the confused face Jack’s making—often mistaken for his resting bitchface— and the silence from Noah.

“Hey,” Noah smiles cordially, allowing time for Jack’s rock of a brain to catch up on the interaction. “It’s Matt, right?”

“Oh, uh, it’s just Matthew,” he corrects, but his cheeks flush slightly as if he’s pleased Noah recognizes him.

“Matthew,” Noah repeats with a relaxed smile, nodding to himself.

Not one to be left out of a conversation, Jack interrupts them bluntly. “Fucking art, right?” He groans dramatically, proudly lifting up his dumpster-fire of a painting.

“Yeah,” Matthew chuckles to himself softly as Jack puffs up in pride. “That’s, um, actually why I came over—“

“Did the Albatross send you over to help us?” Jack interrupts with an edge, referring to their middle-aged teacher, Mrs. Edwards. “I swear to god, if that old fart—“

“Jack, shut the fuck up,” Noah scolds, belting him across the arm. “Let Matthew talk, jesus.”

And Jack does shut up, but not before sending a betrayed look Noah’s way that he dutifully ignores, instead looking up at Matt with a smile. _He’s kind of awkward-cute,_ Noah thinks to himself.

“Oh, she didn’t send me over,” Matthew confirms, his eyes flickering down to the sheet of paper in his hands. “I just wanted to, um, well, here—“ he rushes out as he thrusts the paper towards Noah.

When Noah looks down at the sheet, his breath catches on a sharp inhale. Because it’s fucking _him,_ painted masterfully across the paper, his features soft in the way they never are, aided by the acrylics that Matthew used. Noah can barely recognize himself through the delicate, yet precise brush strokes that reanimate him on paper.

It’s peculiar to see himself captured so accurately on a static medium, his jaw both definitive and familiar. What’s most beautiful is the way Matthew’s painted his eyes. A blue Noah once believed to be plain nearly emerges from the page with the sharp contrast against his summer-tanned skin.

“Wow,” he begins, a little breathlessly. “Matthew… this is amazing, thank you,” he confides graciously, glancing up to see that his cheeks have coloured even further than when Noah last looked at them.

Jack, as his usual nosy self, leans over into Noah’s space, freezing when he sees the painting. “Holy shit dude, I take back what I said,” Jack begins in an awed voice. “You need to help us pass this class.”

“You’re really talented,” Noah affirms with a beaming grin, appraising the painting. Truthfully, he’s not sure he’ll ever tire from looking at it.

“Mrs. Edwards wanted us to pick something to paint, and you were the first thing I saw,” Matthew explains, not deigning response to Noah’s praise apart for a bashful smile. “But I mean, like, not in a creepy way,” he quickly adds.

Out of the corner his eye, Noah can see the way Jack’s watching their interaction as if it were a tennis match, incredulously peering from Matthew to Noah in rapid succession. Bearing that no mind, he grins up at Matthew.

“No worries,” he replies, kind of winded, as his earlier suspicions are confirmed.

Matthew _is_ cute. In a sort of ‘I want to hold your hand, and also play really beautiful hockey with you’ way. Judging by the subtle, yet no less painful jab from Jack into his ribs, he’s really not concealing that information at all, instead looking at Matthew with hearts in his eyes. It’s okay though, because he’s already made his peace with it.

“Can I keep it?” He asks shyly, toying with the paper between his fingers.

“You’d—really?” Matthew’s beaming grin is infectious, stretching a wide smile across Noah’s features. “I mean, yeah, of course you can,” he tries to play off his excitement, clearing his throat.

“Awesome,” Noah beams, resting his chin on his hands to look up at Matthew through his eyelashes.

Matthew’s cheeks darken further at Noah’s stare, and Noah's smile intensifies accordingly. Somewhere, off to his right, Jack gags.

 

**2**

 

“Dude, _dude,_ we did it,” Noah slurs out, leaning heavily into Jack as they stumble down the hotel hallway. “Fuck McDavid!” He crows out loudly, snickering as Jack loudly shushes him and drags him into his room.

“Shut the fuck up, you nimrod,” Jack whisper-shouts, sounding all high and mighty, even though Noah knows for a _fact_ Jack is just as shitfaced as he is.

And then Noah catches the way Jack’s cheeks have darkened even redder than his normal alcohol flush, and he cackles with delight at his sudden realization. “ _McDavid,_ really?” _Oh, this is just too good,_ Noah thinks to himself. Jack’s practically steaming with the intensity of his blush, and Noah can’t help but push even further. “I wonder who’ll come first overall between the two of you, huh?”

Jack growls in frustration at Noah’s snickering, mercilessly throwing him onto the bed with zero regard for the way Noah bounces off and lands flat on his ass. “As if you aren’t the same way with Chuky, eye-fucking him like there aren’t people watching.”

“Fuck you,” Noah grunts out as he pulls himself up, wincing as he rubs over a tender spot on his hip. “Dumping me like that was completely unnecessary,” he whines, realizing it’s probably going to bruise.

“Maybe,” Jack replies, shrugging carelessly. “But doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy watching you fall on your ass.”

“Rude,” he mutters, before an amused smirk tugs at his lips. “I bet you’d enjoy watching McDavid—“

“Nope, nope,” Jack interrupts loudly, his hand held high as he shakes his head. “You can’t judge me for my shit taste when yours is even worse.”

“I’ll remember that,” Noah pouts as he leans back against his pillows at the top of the bed. “When you try to tell people you’re nice, and not actually a bitch.”

“I’m kind of banking on your drunk ass forgetting everything anyway,” Jack murmurs to himself, before raising his voice. “Alright, I did my best friend duty and got your ass to bed. Don’t… like, die or some shit in the meantime,” he supplies helpfully over his shoulder as he walks towards the door.

“Wait, Jack,” he calls out, waiting until Jack turns around to speak. “We did it dude, second and fifth overall,” he whispers in a bewildered tone, all of the events of the day catching up to him at once. “I’m proud of you,” his words are muffled into the tight hug that Jack reciprocates easily.

“Not bad for a couple of scrubs from Mass, huh?” Jack’s words are soft in the way they rarely are as he embraces Noah. “But congrats man, love you.”

“Not as much as you love McDavid, but that’s okay,” Noah’s haste to mention, purely for the way Jack rolls his eyes like he’s unaffected, but the flush creeping down his neck indicates otherwise. “But like...fuck McDavid, okay? In more ways than one.”

“Ugh, I fucking hate you,” Jack grumbles, but he’s laughing as he exits Noah’s hotel room.

When Noah’s left in the silence of the room, he realizes he’s not quite ready to go to bed yet. There’s a strange itch under his skin, teasing him without the relief of scratching. It makes his skin buzz as he sits in peace, for the first time in what feels like years.

To cope with the sudden silence, he picks up his phone, scrolling through his text messages. And yeah, he may be stroking his ego, but he just got fucking drafted fifth overall—he deserves it if anything. He flips through the messages quickly, with the intent to properly thank each person when he can string together a proper sentence instead of jumbled letters.  

When he catches Matthew’s name, he most definitely pauses, his pointer finger hovering over the touch screen. He can feel himself begin to smile, but then again, did he even stop after Jack left? A better question for another—more sober— time, he reasons, shrugging to himself.

Opening the message thread, his body melts into the pillows with elation once he sees what Matthew’s sent him. He very nearly grabs a pillow to scream into, because he’s so, so fucking happy with no real outlet for it. He reads Matthew’s message over and over, until it becomes ingrained—hopefully permanently—within his memory.

_Congrats on the draft bigshot, gonna fuck it up in Raleigh huh?_

The message alone is more than enough, especially coming from Matthew, but the attached picture below the message is enough to actually _end_ him. It’s a painting, because of course it is; a 10x10 watercolour that is only large enough to emphasize the focal points of the image. There’s the big grin Noah sported on the draft stage, and the striking Carolina red that he’ll don for the rest of his career.

And, through Matthew’s eyes, Noah just looks so much _more_. The striking cut of his cheekbones, emphasized with his side profile, and the way his eyes look more animated than he could ever imagine them being. It had to have been a getty picture that Matthew found online, but he’s reinvented it with his own flair to create something beautiful.

Before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb jams the call icon beside Matthew’s name, and he eagerly awaits the comforting sound of his voice.  
  
“How’s A2, you artistically gifted little shit?” Noah slurs into the phone once Matthew picks up.   
  
He hears Matthew’s loud laugh ring through his phone, filling him with an indescribable warmth that has Noah grinning as he flops down on the hotel bed. It’s a really good laugh, Noah decides. He also decides that he really wishes Matthew were here with him, celebrating the draft. He thinks he may be voicing his thoughts, based on the way Matthew’s laughter continues, wispy and soft.   
  
“Same old, how’s the show, ya fucking lightweight?” Matthew chirps back, and Noah can practically hear the smile in his voice.   
  
“10/10, would recommend,” Noah earnestly replies, nodding his head in that alcohol-stupid way. 

“Yeah, I fucking bet you would,” he snickers, but his voice is so fond Noah can nearly feel it through the phone.

“Tell me about your day,” Noah drunkenly demands, purely so he can close his eyes and listen to Matthew talk.

Matthew’s surprised laughter rings through the phone again, and Noah smiles, even though he distantly believes that for some reason, Matthew’s laughing _at_ him, and not with him.

“Why, so you can fall asleep again?” Matthew teases, and then sighs faux-dramatically. “Okay, so you remember how I drew the Albatross for the term project?” He begins, listing off the success of the intricate prank that Noah and Jack helped him orchestrate.   
  
And Noah may have just been drafted into the NHL, but here? Listening to Matthew explain in detail how he terrorized their art teacher? Noah may as well be back in Ann Arbor, wielding a paintbrush under Matthew’s watchful eye, feeling his hand over top of Noah’s as he single-handedly prevented Noah from failing the class.

His new home is several hundreds of miles south, but drifting off to Matthew’s engaging story, he feels something settle within his chest. Something that isn’t quite home... but _could_ be.

 

**3**

 

Looking out over the Rockies at 7am isn’t exactly how Noah expected his off-day to begin, but he can’t deny that he’s at least in good company. Glancing over to Matthew, he can’t help but feel completely at ease in their off-trail alcove. Flickering back to the scenery in front of them, he’s filled with awe at the fact _this_ is his new home. It’s so beautiful and already so welcoming, and Noah knows this is going to be good.

A contributing factor includes the ‘bonding-time’ with his new teammate. Or, at least that’s what they tell people. Because to actually describe the way they practically haven’t left each other’s side since Noah arrived from his off-season in Boston? He’s not sure he could, even if he wanted to.

Confusion and resurfacing feelings aside, it’s nice. Amazing, even. Because he and Matthew haven’t missed a beat, intertwining themselves back into each other’s lives as if they were back at Pi High.

And, as if they were back in Pioneer High’s art room, Matthew’s painting again. He’s using watercolours, which is definitely an upgrade from his high-school preference for acrylics. Matthew’s hair is longer too, and it hangs adorably over his face as he leans over to set up his workstation.

He’s using one of their reusable water bottles and a tupperware container for the brush water, while re-purposing the lid of the tupperware as a makeshift palette to mix the watercolours. It’s functional, but mostly just precious, and Noah feels himself smile gently as he looks at him.

Matthew must feel his eyes on him, because he glances up at Noah, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. “What?”

“Nothing,” Noah shrugs easily, smile still in place. “Just happy.”

His statement makes Matthew pause for a moment, a little smile quirking his mouth as he glances down at his paints. “Yeah, me too,” he says softly. “It’s really good to have you back, y’know?”

Matthew shrugs in an attempt to downplay his words, but it still sends Noah’s heart fluttering all the same. The softness of Matthew’s words warm his cheeks with a flaring blush that refuses to settle.

“Yeah,” Noah agrees dumbly. “I missed you too, idiot,” he says, laced heavily with affection.

Matthew’s cheeks visibly colour when his words land, and he picks up his paintbrush to occupy his hands.

“Shut up, I have to concentrate,” Matthew deflects playfully, the tips of his ears a rosy pink as he dips his brush into the water.

“Figures your oaf brain wouldn’t be able to multitask,” Noah chirps effortlessly, leaning back against the thick roots of the tree behind him, settling down for a nap.

It doesn’t take long to drift off, sun-warm and completely relaxed, listening to the birds and Matthew’s quiet humming beside him.

 

\-----/-----

 

When Noah wakes up, he feels nearly too warm, and definitely hungry. His stomach rumbles in agreement, and he squints his eyes open at the too-bright sun, forgetting for a moment where he is.

When his eyes adjust to the light, he glances over to his side, using his hand to shade his eyes. It’s still a little blurry, but he can spot Matthew chomping disgustingly on a granola bar. He’s also shed his shirt at some point during Noah’s nap, and his offseason-tanned skin glimmers under the sunlight. His snapback is sat backwards on his head, and he’s wearing the douchey ray-bans that Noah loves to rip on.

In summation, he looks like someone out of the tacky ‘Str8’ porn Noah used to watch in his denial phase. And _fuck,_ he looks so hot it’s absolutely unfair.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly as he shifts to sit up, wincing at the tightness in his neck from the rough sleeping position.

“Hey,” Matthew replies, his mouth full as he squints over at Noah.

It’s then that Noah spots the small pile of garbage beside Matthew, containing empty granola bars wrappers and orange peels meant for the _both_ of them. Which Matthew has clearly demolished single-handedly like the fatass he is.

“Douche move bro,” Noah mutters mournfully, nodding towards the empty packaging.

Like the unaffected asshole Matthew inherently _is,_ he shrugs, not looking at all remorseful. “I was hungry. But I’m sure this’ll make up for it,” he says coyly as he hands over his downturned painting.

He expects to see the scenic view in front of him translated into Matthew’s distinctive paint strokes. It’s what he predicted Matthew would paint.

So, imagine his surprise when he sees himself bathed in the shade of the tree, relaxed back into it. His ankles are crossed, his fingers intertwined, and he looks more at peace than the reflection Noah sees every day in the mirror.

His frame is shadowed in hues of green, and his lips are relaxed set into a small grin.

He can’t believe that Matthew could complete such a detailed piece in such a short period of time. Noah couldn’t have been out for more than 40 minutes, and Matthew captured him like _this._

“I didn’t think you could get any better,” he whispers in awe as his eyes hungrily scan the painting. “Matthew, holy shit, this is just...wow.”

“Yeah?” Matthew says with a pleased little grin that sends Noah’s insides churning.

“Yeah, I don’t know, you make me so much... _better_ than I am, it’s insane,” Noah breathes out softly.

“Well, it’s how I see you, so,” Matthew murmurs awkwardly, shrugging.

“Yeah?” Noah attempts to keep the dangerous wobble out of his voice, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

“I’ll only paint the most beautiful thing I see around me, regardless of where I am,” he shrugs in that same obviously fake nonchalant way. “An unfortunate character flaw,” he jokes in a forced tone.

Noah’s silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what the _fuck_ he just heard. Either he’s more brain dead than usual, or Matthew actually just called him fucking _beautiful_. But there’s no way; no actual way—

“Yes Noah, that means I think you’re beautiful,” Matthew assures him with an exasperated eye roll. “ _Dumbass_ ,“ he mumbles under his breath, but it’s warm with fondness.   
  
“You think I’m beautiful?” Noah can’t but stupidly parrot, his eyes wide.   
  
“You’re a lot of things,” Matthew shrugs easily, like he’s half as collected as he’s pretending to be. “You’re beautiful, you’re dumb as a rock, and you’re exceptionally kind.”   
  
Noah sucks in a breath, not at all prepared for the emotional assault Matthew is currently unleashing on him. “Matthew,” he begins, sounding all sorts of strangled.   
  
“But you’re also _not_ a lot of things,” he carries on as if Noah never spoke. “You’re definitely not a painter,” he emphasizes with a cheeky smirk, “and... you’re not mine, even though I really want you to be,” he murmurs in a faint, more serious voice.   
  
“I can be,” Noah responds quietly amongst all of the chaotic thoughts racing through his head.   
  
“Yeah?” Matthew smirks impishly, raising an eyebrow as he turns towards Noah.   
  
“I mean, if you want to, y’know, be mine too,” Noah stutters obtusely, feeling heat bloom under the apples of his cheeks.   
  
Matthew doesn’t respond for a moment, instead directing a heart-stopping grin at Noah that effectively dissolves any remaining thoughts in his head. “ _Dumbass_ ,” Matthew repeats affectionately, leaning towards Noah.   
  
And there, perched on top of the Rockies, is where they share their first kiss. 

 

**4**

 

“I feel like my tie is too tight,” Matthew complains, nervously tugging at the knot around his neck.

“Sweetheart you’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Noah reassures him gently, squeezing their interlinked fingers.

“Yeah stop being a bitch, this is nothing,” Jack tacks on unhelpfully, glaring at the crowd of people in the gallery with indisputable contempt.

“Jack,” Connor reprimands softly from Jack’s side, nudging him.

Noah watches on with amusement as Jack looks back to Connor, his expression softening helplessly for a moment before he turns back to them. He’s so fucking _whipped_ , Noah thinks to himself happily.

Jack never misses an opportunity to chirp him and Matthew for their lovey-dovey eyes, but it’s as if he doesn’t realize that he’s somehow _worse_. However, Noah has the self-restraint to abstain from chirping how much Jack is whipped for a certain soft-spoken former first overall. Because he’s a baller friend. But also because Matthew’s tense at his side, looking anxiously to where people are browsing his mounted paintings with intrigue.

“Whatever,” Jack sighs melodramatically, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying dude, we’re here to celebrate you, so like, it’s not that bad.” His words still carry Jack’s usual blunt edge, but under Connor’s watchful gaze his expression has morphed into something wholly more supportive.

“Stop making it sound like you’re attending my funeral,” Matthew grumbles unhappily.

“Okay,” Noah drawls out. “Then, we’re here to celebrate your art!” He tries, directing a hopeful smile at Matthew.

It garners a small, barely-there grin that sends Noah’s heart clenching like it always does. _There you go, baby._

“It’s like the best of both worlds,” Jack begins cheerfully, oblivious to the cautious glances both Noah and Connor are shooting him. “You get an ego boost, but you won’t have to deal with people nutting over you; just your paintings, y’know? That’s Noah’s job, anyways.”

His best friend truly has a fucking way with words.

“What Jack’s _trying_ to say,” Connor begins in an exasperated tone and a rough elbow into Jack’s side, “is that we’re all so proud of you curating an exhibition of your artwork in the first place, and just because it’s anonymous doesn’t discredit how big of a step it was.”

Connor’s using his dad voice, which is also somehow synonymous with his captain voice. His words are so earnestly sincere that they make Noah’s own cheeks flush to accompany Matthew’s stupid grin and averted eyes.

“Thanks,” Matthew grins, relaxing back into Noah’s side.

“Hey,” Jack glares over at his boyfriend, affronted for god knows what. “Don’t try to out-captain me, I’ve known this idiot longer,” he mutters in faux-anger, jabbing a thumb towards Matthew. “We survived the Albatross together, and that shit _means_ something,” he reaches out to bump Matthew’s awaiting fist.

“Don’t be mad that BU somehow made you even more stupid,” Noah chirps easily, smirking at the way Jack’s eyes narrow.

“At least I made it into BU you fucking duster,” Jack shoots back immediately. “Tryna’ act like BC isn’t basically an elementary school with subpar frat parties,” he mutters viciously under his breath.

Off to his right, Matthew snickers at their exchange, and Connor rolls his eyes. “Behave, children,” he intones in the monotonous voice they all know he doesn’t have.

Noah glances back to Jack with a victorious smirk, and catches the knowing wink Jack sends in his direction. And then Noah gets it. Connor may have Jack beat with his words, but Jack knows people, and can figure them out more comprehensively than he’s ever given credit for. It’s part of why he makes such a good captain, and boyfriend.

And the way the tension has dissolved from Matthew’s frame at the familiar banter between the two best friends? Jack’s got it right, unsurprisingly.

“Wanna walk around for a bit?” Noah questions quietly to Matthew, giving him an out should he need it.

“Yeah,” Matthew whispers back. “I kinda want to hear what they’re saying about my work… is that weird?”

“Not at all,” Noah reassures him privately, running a soothing hand down his arm. Then, to the other couple, he nods. “We’re going to walk around for a bit.”

“Good luck,” Connor beams genuinely.

“Proud of you bro,” Jack says, soft in the undeniable way they all know he is behind the bravado.

Jack leans in to quickly hug Matthew, and whispers something into his ear that is unheard by the rest of them. When they break apart, Jack is grinning wildly, and Matthew’s cheeks are somehow even redder.

Glaring back at the two of them, Noah crosses his arms. “This is Matthew’s first exhibit. If I find out you two got kicked out for fucking in the washrooms— _again_ —I’ll dust both of your asses,” he intones resolutely, peering at them with narrowed eyes.

To his right, Matthew chokes with a loud snort. In front of him, the two boys colour, though it’s Connor who takes the cake, his eyes widened and his cheeks beet-red. Jack’s cheeks are pink, though his eyes shine with a proud humour that makes Noah want to roll his eyes.

Glancing back at Connor, he hasn’t moved at all, rooted to his spot like a reprimanded toddler. But Noah’s not having any of that shit. He _knows_ the story of how they got caught having sex in the washrooms at the NHL awards last year. And that Connor isn’t nearly as innocent as he’s projecting, especially after Jack won the Hart the previous year.

“No promises,” Jack replies with a sleazy grin.

 

\-----/-----

 

“There’s a lot more people than I expected,” Matthew confides as they walk through the crowd.

“I’m not surprised, you’re an amazing artist,” Noah whispers back, running his thumb over their intertwined hands.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Matthew sighs happily, leaning further into Noah as they squeeze past a small crowd in front of one of Matthew’s landscapes.

“Me too,” he smiles back, feeling his skin zip with affection as it’s reciprocated, a small dimple appearing on the right side of Matthew’s face as he grins. “I’m really proud of you, y’know?”

"Yeah," Matthew ducks his head down for a moment with that same grin, his tongue poking through the spaces between his teeth. "I know.”

They both look over to where the crowd is in various stages of conversation, pointing up to the mounted painting and providing commentary. “Do you want to go over?” Noah asks, nudging him gently.

Matthew follows his sight line, and his lips purse momentarily. “Um, there’s a lot of people,” he stutters. “Maybe another one?”

“Sure, of course,” Noah agrees gently, taking Matthew’s hand as they walk towards a less crowded section of the gallery.

They find themselves in a secluded corner of the gallery, standing in front of a painting that doesn’t quite fit the theme of Matthew’s exhibition, but one he wanted included nonetheless.

It’s a painting of two hands resting on a table; _their_ hands, Noah’s propped up slightly within Matthew’s grasp. A nearly invisible kiss is placed on Noah’s knuckles, the tattoo of Matthew’s lips a couple of shades lighter than the colour he used to capture Noah’s skin tone. The silhouette of their intertwined hands, cut off from the forearm down, is evidently the focus of the painting, situated in the foreground to attract attention. In the background are various objects and symbolic images spread across the table.

It’s obviously an important painting to Matthew, especially because he chose it to be apart of his first exhibition. As Noah scans the painting, he can feel Matthew go lax against him, enjoying the tranquil silence.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” An old man beside them speaks abruptly, smiling a toothy grin. “I wonder what the artist is trying to say,” he ponders aloud, leaning on his walker to peer closer at the painting.

“Yeah,” Noah, peering slyly over at Matthew, who is pursing his lips to contain his smirk, but his dimple pops out adorably anyway. “Me too.”

That sends Matthew back to facing him, a questioning expression on his face. At Noah’s encouraging nod, he takes a deep breath. “Well, um, I think that the, uh, artist was trying to show all of the things that are important to them? Like, the hands, or whatever, are kind of the focus of the painting, so maybe that’s um, pretty important to them?” Matthew’s eyes are averted and his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. “Not sure, though.”

God, Noah _loves_ him.

“I like that interpretation,” the elderly man nods with satisfaction. “Regardless, it’s a beautiful painting.”

Matthew’s eyes are still on the floor, but there’s a heart-stopping grin pulling at his features. Noah squeezes their linked fingers, and when Matthew looks up at him, he speaks. “I think so as well,” Noah murmurs with feeling, looking straight into Matthew’s eyes.

Unaware of the moment between the two of them that he’s interrupting, the man speaks again. “I wonder if any of the paintings are for sale,” he muses aloud.

Beside him, Matthew chokes on an inhale. Thumping him roughly on the back, Noah receives daggers before Matthew looks back to the elderly man. “You’d—really? You’d want to buy it?”

Matthew attempts to keep himself together, but his wild grin and the radiance in his eyes betray him altogether. Glancing over at Noah, his eyes widen meaningfully to convey just how bizzare the entire situation is.

“Of course, I think I’ll ask the curator, yes,” the man murmurs to himself before raising his voice back to a normal level. “It was lovely meeting you boys, have a nice night,” he waves as he shuffles away from them.

It’s quiet for a moment before Matthew clears his throat. “I feel like I should have hugged him or something,” he whispers guiltily, watching the man walk away.

“I mean, he wouldn’t have known the painting was yours anyway, if that helps,” Noah supplies with a small shrug.

“Yeah, but I don’t _want_ any money for my painting,” Matthew sighs. “Like, if someone wants to pay their own money for my work, the idea of it alone is more than enough. I have enough money already, taking money from someone would just be pure greed.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Noah agrees, pursing his lips in thought. “But what if you donated the money or something? Maybe to the Flames Foundation?”

Matthew’s eyes widen in recognition. “Yeah, that’d be… perfect,” he grins happily, the guilt evaporating as he leans up to press a chaste kiss to Noah’s jaw.

 

\-----/-----

 

“So,” Matthew begins once they’re back at their apartment. “I have a little surprise for you, that I obviously couldn’t include in the exhibition,” he states with an excited grin, leading them into the spare bedroom of their apartment.

“Matthew c’mon,” he scolds playfully, “you don’t need to give me a surprise.”

He follows Matthew into the spare bedroom, his breath stuttering when Matthew flicks on the lights, Noah's eyes completely locked on the 30x40 canvas painting in front of him.

Once again, Noah finds himself staring at himself painted across a canvas, though this one is much larger than anything Matthew’s painted of him in the past. Walking towards it subconsciously, his mind races in a way that feels akin to an out-of-body experience.  

Because this isn’t how he sees himself; it’s how _Matthew_ sees him. And here, looking at the soft lines painted across the canvas, Noah’s _beautiful;_ his body tangled up in bedsheets, and the warmth of the early morning sun casting a soft glow over the planes of his cheekbones. He looks utterly peaceful and nearly majestic, which are two adjectives he’d normally never use to describe himself.

In Matthew’s eyes, Noah is just so much _bigger_ than himself, and it’s a nearly startling realization.

Analyzing the fine details carefully, he can readily determine just how much work Matthew put into the painting, the features as meticulously perfect as the colours he mixed. Noah can even see the fine sun spots under his own eyes that can’t be seen from afar. Looking down his shirtless body, Noah can see the faint discolouration of bruises along his rib cage, and he grins, so glad that Matthew captured an accurate image of Noah, abused from the sport they both love so much.

He becomes lost within the painting, spotting the little easter eggs of information that Matthew incorporated into the painting. When he spots the alarm clock on the bedside table beside the bed, reading 2:38 pm, he scoffs, recognizing the subtle chirp about his love for sleeping in on off-days.

He turns back to Matthew, not even realizing he’s been silently gawking at the painting. He expects Matthew to be standing there, gnawing on his lower lip nervously, but when he turns around, it’s somehow the complete opposite.

Matthew’s leaning against the doorjamb with a relaxed grin playing on his lips, watching Noah with enough warmth in his eyes that it subsequently heats Noah’s cheeks as well. Unable to help it, he walks over to Matthew and embraces him in a suffocating hug.

“Like it, then?” Matthew asks in a playful voice, but he returns the force of Noah’s hug like he understands.

“Matthew, baby, I—“ Noah stutters, at a loss for words. “I can’t believe you did this, it’s _gorgeous_ ,“ Noah stutters, but Matthew needs to know how much this means to Noah, no matter the sacrifice of his own pride.

“Good, I’m happy you like it,” Matthew murmurs quietly, leaning back with a pleased flush to his cheeks.

“Like it? It’s stunning,” Noah breathes, subconsciously glancing back at the painting.

“Yeah?” Matthew goads him on shamelessly, loving the praise, if the grin pressed into Noah’s cheek is anything to go by.

“Yeah,” Noah affirms. “I just—it all looks so real, y’know? Like, you even got my freckles, it’s just—I didn’t even know there was a way you _could_ get any better, but this is just so good,” he rambles honestly, meaning every single word.

“I spend enough time staring at your ugly mug to have it seared within my memory,” Matthew chirps jokingly with an affectionate kiss pressed into Noah’s cheek. “But thanks, love you,” he whispers, squeezing Noah gently from behind.

“I love _you_ ,“ Noah replies seriously. “But I should be thanking you, Matthew this is—“

“It’s okay,” Matthew interrupts gently, “You’ve always been my muse, you know that right? Even back in A2, when I didn’t even know...” he trails off, glancing at the painting. “I’ll never get tired of painting you. I _always_ want to paint you.”

The words aren’t lost on Noah, and he feels so full of love he’s nearly fit to burst. But there’s a nagging thought in his mind that cuts through the uncontrollable affection.

Matthew has yet to paint a picture of the two of them, instead only painting Noah. For some reason, it makes his stomach twist unhappily. Because of course he’s grateful for Matthew painting him on any medium, but to have a painting of the two of them together would be stunning.

When he voices his thoughts aloud, Matthew chuckles softly, but the laughter doesn’t meet his eyes the way it usually does. “I don’t know, it’d just be weird painting myself,” Matthew shrugs with forced ease.

Noah has a feeling that he knows why Matthew’s answer is purposefully vague, but god, he hopes he’s wrong. Because Matthew can’t be thinking that, not when Noah’s here, and _so_ fucking in love with him that it sometimes scares him.

“Don’t tell me you don’t think you’re beautiful,” Noah pleads quietly. Because there’s no way he can think that, not when he’s the most beautiful person Noah’s ever met.

At his statement, Matthew’s eyes flicker away momentarily, betraying his answer. His eyes are back on Noah’s within the blink of an eye, but it’s enough for Noah’s attentive eyes to catch.

Matthew just shrugs again, but he takes his lip into his mouth nearly nervously, and Noah can’t help but turn around and walk in close to him.

“I mean, look at you, and look at me,” Matthew mutters with another shrug, and it’s all Noah has in him to not snap back at Matthew.

He reigns in the initial outrage on Matthew’s behalf, but only just. Because at this point he knows that invalidating Matthews feelings, as much as Noah may disagree with them, isn’t the way to approach it. But fuck, he can’t help but feel sad.

“I am,” he says instead, his eyes pinched with sadness. “Matthew, c’mon, look at me,” he waits until Matthew’s eyes meet his again before continuing. “You’re the most beautiful I’ve ever met, okay? Inside and out, you’re so special, so perfect for me,” Noah rambles, but every word is genuine, nearly frightfully so.

Matthew knows it too, based on the way his cheeks darken in a sort of embarrassed way. “Noah—“

“No, let me finish,” Noah interrupts, needing to finish what he began to say. “You’re so beautiful that I wish I had the talent you do; because I’d be painting you any chance I could.”

“You would?” Matthew questions with a shy smile that turns Noah’s insides to mush.

“Fuck it, I _will_ ,“ Noah emphasizes. “It’ll be shit, but I’ll paint us, I promise.”

His words lighten the tension from Matthew’s features, until he’s grinning at Noah with so much tenderness that he didn’t think it was possible. Chuckling softly, Matthew pulls him into his arms, stroking gently over his arm in the way that never fails to raise goosebumps on Noah’s skin.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Matthew snorts, but there’s gratitude layered between the playfulness that Noah can readily detect.

“I can’t wait to see _yours_ ,“ Noah replies with a smirk.

Matthew rolls his eyes, before ducking in to press an unexpected kiss into Noah’s cheek. He lingers there for a moment, as if he’s thinking through something. Finally, he pulls back, and his lips are pursed, but his eyes shine with emotion.

“How ‘bout this, then,” Matthew begins, a cheeky smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll paint the two of us— if you give me a meaningful enough memory to paint.”

Noah automatically assumes Matthew is referencing something to do with hockey. And, a painting of the two of them raising the cup really doesn’t sound too bad, if he’s being truthful. But, the way Matthew’s eyebrows raise in an unspoken challenge halt any thoughts pertaining to hockey. Instead, they indicate something wholly _more_ , and Noah tries to stomp the uncontrollable hope fizzing through his chest.

Because— Matthew couldn’t possibly mean what Noah’s thinking. Couldn’t possibly catch the way Noah’s eyes flicker subconsciously down to Matthew’s bare left ring finger.

“I will,” Noah promises, unable to keep the rough timbre out of his voice.

Based on the beatific smile he receives in response, and the way Matthew gently intertwines their fingers, he thinks it’s the right answer.

 

\-----/-----

 

The messy stick figure picture Noah eventually paints of them both is as mangled as it is reaffirming. It’s hung up on their fridge from then on; and Matthew may have chuckled when Noah initially presented it to him, but he sees the way Matthew’s eyes soften with affection every time he passes it in the kitchen, so. Noah figures his message is received loud and clear.

It’s worth it, even if he has to lie about the artist of the painting any time people come over. Which, is truthfully unfair, because Noah’s four year old niece is admittedly much more talented than he is with a paintbrush.   
  


**5**

 

Noah never predicted they’d turn into _that_ couple. The psychopathic idiots that blearily hike a fucking mountain through the darkness, only to watch a 20 minute sunrise. But here they are, hidden from the trail in their private alcove, huddled together for warmth as they share a thermos of hot coffee.

“Why are we doing this again?” Noah whines, feeling Matthew’s chuckle reverberate as he snuggles into him closer.

“Because,” Matthew begins with amusement laced in his tone. “You got the last say on the house, so you owe me.”

Noah can feel his eyes roll subconsciously. Thankfully Noah hasn’t fucked up too bad in their relationship so far, because Matthew forgets absolutely _nothing_ , and is more than happy to bring it up at the most inopportune times.

“We bought the house two years ago, you fucking nutcase,” he snickers.

“Well, maybe I was banking it for today,” Matthew responds, glancing down at Noah with a thoughtful smile.

Still, after all of these years, Noah can’t help the way his stomach dips at the devastating smile directed towards him. The soft set to his eyes that Noah has recognized as he learned Matthew’s body as well as his own. The openness of those stunning blues, attentive and considerate, communicating as effectively as Matthew’s verbal counterpart.

“I guess this is nice,” Noah concedes grudgingly, watching the sun begin to peek out from behind the mountains. “Even if you’re a weirdo.”

Hugging him even closer, Matthew laughs, bright and full of happiness. “I’m taking that as a compliment, just so you know.”

“Really wouldn’t expect any less,” Noah responds drily, shifting even closer into him, though it jostles the box hidden in his back pocket uncomfortably.

Matthew huffs out a breathy laugh but doesn’t respond, instead watching the view in front of them silently. And, Noah can admit that it is worth the early morning hike, not that he’ll ever divulge it to Matthew. He can’t help but reminisce on the many times they’ve been at this special spot throughout their relationship, an effective time-stamp for their very best memories. Though they haven’t been able to frequent it as often as they used to, predominantly due to their increasingly hectic lives, especially after Matthew got the C.

Matthew must share his thoughts, because he sighs contentedly. “Last time we were here, we didn’t even have the house,” he murmurs nearly wistfully.

“‘Lot’s happened since then,” Noah agrees quietly.

“Yeah, which is why I—um, here,” Matthew uncharacteristically mumbles before reaching into his pocket.

Noah leans back and watches on in confusion as Matthew hands him the same painting that has been mounted on their fridge for the past five years. Baffled, Noah reaches out to take it, peering down at his own painting.

“Um, thank you?” Noah questions, bewilderment raising his voice in pitch.

Matthew doesn’t respond to Noah’s attempt at a joke, instead settling his chin on Noah’s shoulder, joining him in looking down at the painting. “Turn it over, idiot,” he snickers gently, placing a soft kiss to Noah’s neck.

Curiously, Noah turns over the paper, his breath catching when he sees what Matthew’s painted. He’s obviously tried to paint at Noah’s pre-schooler level in an attempt to keep with the theme, but his own skill is clearly evident, exemplified even with Noah’s sketched-in emerald green coloured hair. But it’s Matthew he’s focusing on in the painting, because his purple curl-covered head is bowed, and his oversized three-fingered hands are outstretched towards painting-Noah, holding an all-too familiar velvet box within his grasp.

“Matt,” he chokes out, his suddenly stinging eyes still locked on the painting.

He feels Matthew shift behind him, and then his eyes lock on Matthew’s recreation of his own painting; down on one knee beside Noah, opening a deep black velvet box. Contained within is a thick band of polished mahogany inlaid within robes of black ceramic; it’s a wedding ring, _Noah's_ wedding ring, and he can’t help the wet sob that escapes his mouth. He tries to muffle it with his hand, but it doesn’t do much, based on the nervous smile Matthew’s directing at him.

“There’s not a day that I’m not grateful you’re mine, and I’m yours. Fuck, it seems like fate, doesn’t it?” Matthew questions rhetorically, his eyes as earnest as his words. “That you came back into my life, and that you changed everything. I don’t take that for granted, or take you for granted. You mean everything to me— _are_ everything. So, would do me the distinct honour of being my everything; always?”

Matthew’s eyes may be red, and his voice may be choked, but he’s certainly fairing better than Noah, who’s roughly wiping his nose with his shirt collar while snorting back ugly tears. Noah leans forward, and jostles that same package secured in his back pocket, the package that he had completely forgotten about. It’s then that he freezes in his position, subconsciously reaching down to close his hand around the square box.

At that point, he does the most irrational thing one could do when getting proposed to. He begins to laugh.

The hysteric edge in his laughter is influenced by a plethora of factors: the shock at the thought Matthew wants to fucking _marry_ him, the elation that he feels down deep in his chest, and the genuine hilarity of the situation. Clearly, Matthew doesn’t share his sentiment, because he glares down at Noah, affronted.

“Why are you laughing? This is romantic; my mom said it was romantic! The ring is made out of mahogany from one of these trees, you fucking _dick_ —”

“It’s plenty romantic,” Noah giggles out wildly, putting a stop to Matthew’s tirade as he reaches back to his own pocket. “I was just laughing because...you beat me to the punch,” he says, his voice growing softer as he reveals his own velvet box.

And then the flash of irritation melts down Matthew’s features, leaving behind a relief so stark that it warms Noah down to his insides. Matthew ignores his ring in favour of Noah’s, cradling his hands around Noah’s delicately as if he were handling a bomb.

“Open it,” Matthew urges softly, his focus trained entirely on the box in Noah’s hands. “C’mon.”

Matthew’s reaction to the ring is completely reaffirming; his broken intake of air, and the way he meets Noah’s eyes with so much devotion contained within them that Noah’s eyes burn even more intensely. He grins that same magnificent smile up at Noah, expressing his disbelief at the situation.

Huh, Noah guesses they really _have_ become that couple.

“Really?” Matthew questions in a small voice, his smile so enriched with hope that it nearly hurts to look at it. Its beaming elation can only rival the one in Noah’s memories, directed towards him the moment Matthew’s eyes immediately found his across the ice after he raised the Stanely Cup back towards their team, screaming in victory.

“Duh,” he reassures unthinkingly, matching Matthew’s ridiculously large smile with one of his own.

It’s where they remain for a few silent moments, stupidly grinning at each other. Until Matthew reaches over to pull him into a tight hug, softly giggling into the sensitive skin of his neck.

“I take it that your answer is yes, then?” Matthew jokes happily, squeezing Noah tightly.

“It was always a yes, don’t pretend otherwise,” Noah retorts with a snort.

“Well, things took a dark turn when you started fucking laughing at me,” he quips sarcastically, but he’s still grinning at Noah with a giddiness that is reciprocated in spades.

Noah still can’t wrap his head around it. He’s getting fucking _married_.

“I love you,” Noah breathes out in an uncontrollably raspy voice, trying to convey at least a fraction of the emotions swirling around inside his mind.

All he receives in return is a knowing smile that communicates its own unspoken message.

Matthew grins lovingly down at Noah’s bare ring finger, his tongue poking between his teeth in an adorable way. He softly strokes over Noah’s finger before slipping the ring on, the cold metal a shock against his flushed skin. Noah feels like he can’t breathe, so intimately satisfied at the claim of a metal band around his finger. And then Matthew looks up at Noah, through his lashes, and Noah’s heart stutters with how overwhelmingly _happy_ he is.

“You’re the most important thing to ever happen to me,” Matthew whispers hoarsely, sincere in the way he always is.

The careful wording isn’t lost on Noah, because they both know hockey is the best thing that’s ever happened to them. It’s brought them a sense of purpose, a family they never anticipated, and most importantly— _each other_. But to know he’s the most important thing to ever happen to Matthew? Fuck.

If he could find the words to reply to Matthew, he would, honest. But words are completely failing him, so he figures the toe-curling kiss he lays on Matthew will do the trick.

 

\-----/-----

 

By the time they finally disentangle from each other, the sun is high in the sky, their faces are absurdly flushed, and Noah’s phone is buzzing with copious text messages. He distractedly checks them while Matthew cuddles him from behind, remedying their proximity.

 

**Jack**

_So which of you dipshits ended up proposing first?_

 

Noah’s eyebrows furrow as he squints down at the message in confusion.

 

**Noah**

_What?_

**Jack**

_Who proposed first? Con and I have a bet, I’ve got money riding on you dw <3 _

 

“Oh my god,” Noah whispers down at his phone, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What’s wrong?” Matthew questions, his voice rough like he just woke up.

“Did you tell Jack you were going to propose?” Noah has a feeling he knows Matthew’s answer, but asks regardless.

“Yeah, he made me fake-propose to him before I was allowed to propose to you,” Matthew mutters, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Ignoring _that_ disturbing mental image, Noah rolls his eyes. “He knew I was proposing too, apparently they made a bet on who would propose first.”

Matthew takes the news much better than Noah, snickering at Jack’s antics. “So, who did I win money for?”

Glancing back down at the messages, he reads them over again. “Connor, I think.”

 

**Noah**

_He proposed first :)_

 

Moments later, the responding text message vibrates against his hand.

 

**Jack**

_ugh you owe me $1000 you useless sack of shit_

**Jack**

_But I’m so happy for you two idiots, just pls fuck the honeymoon phase out of your systems before we see you next thaaaannnkkksss <3 _

 

Matthew must be reading the messages too, because he snorts loudly over Noah’s shoulder. “Gotta respect the loyalty at least,” he snickers.

“He’s just jealous that we beat them to it,” Noah chuckles, bumping their fists together, feeling Matthew’s band clink against his own.

Matthew catches Noah looking down at their bands and intertwines their fingers, squeezing reassuringly. “So, marriage huh?” He inquires cheekily, pressing a lingering kiss against Noah’s ring.

“Why not?” Noah laughs, shrugging playfully.

Leaning back into the man he will one day call his husband, he looks out over the Rockies from their familiar illegal alcove off-trail. The more he considers it, the more it settles within his chest; Calgary is home, the beautiful mountains and fauna that have become his reprieve. The Flames are home; their unrelenting support and welcoming atmosphere that make him proud to don the jersey he does each night.

And Matthew? He’s home. To Noah, he was always home, even before he had the chance to recognize it for himself.

 

**+1**

 

“Elle, please stop trying to eat your brother’s clothes!” Noah shouts as he chases his son and daughter down the hallway.

_Clearly, they've inherited their papa’s insatiable appetite_ , he thinks to himself with a snort. He can hear the two of them giggling maniacally as he runs after them, his knees creaking dangerously. His heart rate picks up incrementally as he jogs, and he feels very much like the retired NHL player he is.

“It’s okay, daddy!” Jackson calls back reassuringly as Noah approaches them warily, already bracing himself for tears.

Except when he rounds the corner of the hallway, he sees that Elle has repurposed Jackson’s shirt as a headband, pushing the tight caramel coloured coils off her face. She looks up at Noah with an eerily familiar shit-eating grin that has been directed at him far too many times to count.

“Look daddy, Jackson helped!” Elle smiles proudly, pointing aggressively to her headband as if it wasn’t the first thing Noah noticed.

“Good job buddy,” Noah grins helplessly, leaning down to ruffle his son’s hair. Clearly, Jackson is taking the sharing portion of his kindergarten classes very seriously. “But maybe you should give your brother his shirt back, I think he misses it,” he pouts exaggeratedly, appealing to Elle’s questionable conscience.

When he glances back to Jackson, he looks like he really couldn’t care less about being shirtless; which—understandable, but Noah’s trying to make a point here. Peering pointedly at Elle while she blinks innocently up at him, he struggles to maintain his rapidly crumbling resolve.

“Elle, I’m not going to ask you again,” he warns evenly.

“Fine,” she sighs dramatically, reminding him of all he has to look forward to in her teenage years. Shucking the shirt, she hands it back to Noah. And then, because she already knows what Noah’s next words will be, she turns to her brother. “Sorry, Jack.”

“S’okay,” Jackson grins, with a familiar dazed look in his eye that Noah’s been made fun of too many times to count.

Bending down on one slightly unsteady knee, Noah pulls the shirt over Jackson’s raised arms quickly as he attempts to squirm out of Noah’s hold. “Gotcha,” Noah whispers victoriously, laughing at the exaggerated pout Jackson makes when his head pops out of the collar.

“Daddy, where’s papa?” Elle questions curiously from his side.

“I don’t know sweetheart, should we go look for him?” Noah responds with injected excitement because fuck if he’s going to chase after the two of them while Matthew sleeps in.

His two kids cheer and set off in the direction of the master bedroom, shoving each other brutally as they race up the stairs. He barely has time to call out a warning to be careful before they disappear around the corner, speeding towards the bedroom. As he follows them, he can’t help but smirk, understanding more than anyone the rude awakening Matthew’s about to experience.

Except when he reaches the doorway, the bed’s already empty. The fucker must have snuck out while Noah was organizing breakfast and cartoons. Elle looks back at him, her lip wobbling dangerously. She’s at the age when things don’t go her way, she’s more likely to start crying out of frustration. Still, no parent ever wants to see their child cry, so Noah speaks up before it can escalate further.

“I think I know papa’s secret hiding spot,” he whispers secretively, grinning as they race towards him to hold his outstretched hands.

Predictably, they find Matthew downstairs in his studio, his back towards them as he sketches an outline on the gesso-ed canvas. The kids obviously pay no mind to scaring Matthew, ambling towards him as he jumps at the intrusion. His eyes are widened slightly as he looks up at Noah, but then flicker down to the kids, softening with a smile.

“Papa!” Elle yells in relief, and Noah tries not to pout _too_ hard as she sprints towards Matthew.

Matthew sets down his sketching pencil and hauls Elle onto his lap. “I thought you promised me you would keep daddy busy,” Matthew murmurs conspiratorially into Elle’s ear, tickling her sides mercilessly as a punishment.

Still holding Jackson’s hand, he watches the scene in front of him with a deep satisfaction he thought he’d never achieve outside of hockey. Because truthfully, there’s nothing much better than watching his husband cradle their daughter on his knee, matching her toothy grin with one of his own as he peers down at her.

“But I missed you,” Elle pouts, leaning back into Matthew’s chest.

“I missed you too bub,” Matthew replies, wrapping his arms around Elle and pressing a kiss into her curly hair. “But remember what I said?”

“That daddy’s surprise would be ruined,” Elle repeats mournfully.

Her lip is wobbling again, and Noah’s stomach drops slightly, even through the confusion he’s experiencing. But Matthew doesn’t even panic, instead rubbing over her back soothingly as she hugs him.

“It’s okay love, we’ll just remember for next time, okay?” Matthew whispers into her hair softly, hugging her closer as she wordlessly nods into his shirt.

_Crisis averted_ , Noah thinks to himself. Which really is no surprise, Matthew was always a natural from the get-go, with his experience taking care of Brady and Taryn as kids.

Meeting his eyes over Elle’s shoulder, Matthew smirks smugly, sticking his tongue out victoriously. Figures that cocky fucker would be proud of himself, Noah thinks to himself with a fond eye roll. Some things really do never change. But then Matthew’s smirk fades, and he mouths _sorry_ to Noah.

“Do I get to know my surprise, then?” Noah questions slyly as he balances Jackson on his hip, walking towards the canvas to get a better look at what Matthew’s sketching rough lines for.

“Cat’s out of the bag,” Matthew agrees, shrugging reluctantly. “I’m making a family portrait for our 10 year.”

Noah glances back at the canvas, recognizing the familiar outline of their bodies. As well as the nearly fifteen gradients of blue set out that Matthew insists on using any time he paints Noah’s eyes. Matthew’s already claimed himself the true master of painting Noah, so he’ll concede that one, he supposes.

“Really?” Noah reaches out to rest his free hand on the back of Matthew’s neck, subconsciously twirling the wiry curls at the back of his neck. “It’ll be nice to have a painting of all four of us,” Noah muses, mentally determining where he wants to hang the finished painting.

“The surprise would have been nice too, but _someone_ ,” he jokes, looking pointedly down at their daughter, “apparently can’t keep secrets.”

“But I kept baby a secret!” Elle argues back stubbornly, not realizing that Matthew’s mouth has dropped open at her words.

Matthew’s completely unhelpful in clearing up Noah’s confusion, so he looks down to his daughter. “And who’s this ‘baby?’” Noah attempts to question seriously, but he’s unable to keep the ripple of laughter out of his tone.

“My new sister!” She cheers enthusiastically, oblivious to how Noah’s jaw has dropped, too. “Or brother, but you said a sister, right papa?” She blinks up at Matthew angelically, gently closing his mouth with an amused giggle.

“Elora _Hanifin_ ,“ Matthew gasps once he’s recovered, looking down at his daughter with horror, as if he can’t believe that she’s turning into as much of a shit-disturber as he is.

Elle flashes her mischievous eyes over to meet Noah’s wide ones. Hopping off Matthew’s lap, she darts across the room, giggling maniacally to herself.

“Daddy, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that either,” she snickers before taking off down the hallway with riotous laughter.

“Elle, you get back here right now!” Matthew calls out as he makes to leave the room. “You deserve unlimited tickles for that!”

“Not if you can’t catch me!” She calls out challengingly, her voice echoing from down the hallway.

Matthew’s halfway to the door when he realizes Noah’s still standing there silently, completely gobsmacked. He turns back towards Noah with a sheepish wince, guiltily rubbing the back of his head, looking every bit the teenager he used to be.

“She saw the pamphlets and figured it out,” Matthew winces, “I was going to talk you about it tonight, maybe?” His words are questioning, as if he knows how overwhelmed Noah is at the thought of another child, scenarios racing through his head at the thought of having three children instead of two.

_They could be their own team for street hockey_ , Noah muses internally. The Hanifin’s— dreaded by any other kids on the street. He kinda likes the idea of it, maybe a little too much, for how bluntly the idea was thrown at him.

“Yeah, we can, tonight,” Noah whispers genuinely, if not a little bit dazed, at Matthew.

“Yeah?” Matthew’s face softens at his words, a radiance lighting up his entire face. “I love you so much—my everything, always,” Matthew whispers as he leans down for a lingering kiss.

Noah melts into it as he always does, leaning down into Matthew’s body before he realizes their son is pressed between them, and he remembers they’re not hormonal teenagers anymore. Except Matthew’s left eye drops into a teasing wink when they part, and he knows it’s a promise of what’s to come. And Noah’s stomach flips in anticipation, while he amusedly smirks as Matthew jogs out of the studio to go find their daughter.

He shifts Jackson in his arms again as they’re quiet for a moment.

“What do you think buddy? Would it be cool to have another sister, or even a brother?” He croons gently, rocking Jackson in his arms, though the way Jackson fidgets indicates that he’s a bit too old for it.

Jackson purses his lips as if he’s in deep thought. He’s thinking incredibly hard for a simple ‘yes or no’ question, and Noah can feel himself grinning fondly down at his son.

“I want a turtle,” Jackson decides.

Noah can’t help but bark out a laugh. He really shouldn’t have been surprised. And then he can hear his own laughter reciprocated in another room of the house, signifying that Matthew found Elle after all.

Noah stands there, surrounded by so much love and happiness that he feels his heart grow ten sizes. It’s easy to imagine another laugh layered in amongst their own harmony, he realizes. Like most things involving Matthew, it feels as easy as breathing; as easy as paint strokes across a blank canvas.  


**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Might fuck around and write a mceichel companion piece for this fic, idk (insert 20+ peace sign emojis)  
>   
> This fic was truly a lot of fun to write, so please let me know what you guys think! Your feedback is loved and appreciated, so if you liked this even a tiny bit, come talk to me in the comments so I can scream how much I love you! <33333333  
> 


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